by Maren Smith
“Too hot, too cold?” he asked.
When she shook her head, he left the bathroom, returning a moment later with two towels and fresh clothes. She saw her own from yesterday—not the brocade gown or the schoolgirl outfit, but her jeans and t-shirt—crowning the stack. He set them on the counter by the sink and pulled his shirt off over his head.
“Face the wall,” he told her, denying her even the privilege of watching his body—pure masculine poetry in motion—unveiled.
Kaylee did as she was told and her immediate world reduced to what few gray stones swallowed her field of vision and the warm run of water sliding down her.
He stepped into the shower behind her, closing the glass door with a soft magnetic click before the heat of him closed in behind her. He stroked her head, combing his fingers through her hair, pulling the long locks back over her shoulder and into the streaming water.
“Face the wall,” he told her again when she started to look back.
Frustration pinched at her—she wanted to see him!—but she did as she was told, both feeling and hearing the difference when he took the showerhead down off the wall.
“Tip your head back. Further.”
She raised her eyes to the ceiling, half closing them in sheer pleasure when he wet her hair. He smoothed his hands down the long brown lengths, careful to keep first the water and then the soap out of her eyes as he washed her.
Nothing in the world compared with the sensation of strong male hands running through her hair, soaping, stroking, massaging her scalp until all the bones seemed to just melt out of her legs. He washed, rinsed, washed again, saying nothing, just touching her, patiently working the conditioner in until every strand was coated. Her hair was very thick. It took a lot of conditioner, but he took his time, letting it set while he gently combed out the tangles and then rinsed again. Running his fingers through her hair over and over again, he gathered it in his hands, gently twisting the mass up into a loose bun on top of her head where he pinned it with twin clips.
“Hips back,” he told her. “Move your feet apart.”
He opened up a brand new bar of soap and lathered his hands. He washed her much as he had her hair. From the top of her shoulders up her arms to the tips of her fingers, and from her breasts down all the rest of her to the bottoms of her feet, he left no part of her untouched. The soap made his hands slippery. It turned her skin silken and she learned things about herself that she hadn’t before known. Like, her armpits were ticklish and so were the backs of her knees, but not her ribs or the bottoms of her feet. Like, how much she liked it when he plucked and even gently twisted her nipples, his milking motions making them swell, and how the water felt like a thousand licking tongues as it trickled in rivulets down her skin. And like, how sensitive the under curve of her bottom was when he ran his fingers along that crease where her ass met her thighs, and how touching her there made her want to push her hips back at him in wordless pleading. And definitely like, how unbelievably amazing it felt when his soapy, slippery fingers opened her up from behind, parting her folds and holding them that way, exposing the slick, pink core of her to the dripping caress of the water as it followed the curve of her cheeks down and in between.
She knew how this was affecting her, but Kaylee had no idea how hard he was until she heard the plastic tear of a condom wrapper a few seconds before the heat of his cock followed the flow of the water down between her legs, nudging at her core as he positioned himself and then simply sank inside. In one deep, penetrating motion. Up and up and up, a glide so hot and deep, all the way to the hilt. She gasped against the shower rocks, her fingers clutching at the metal ring that bound her, shivering in sheer sensual delight when she felt his moan, so guttural and low, like a growl that rattling up out of his chest and into her back.
He bit her shoulder, scraping with his teeth, latching on and sucking hard. No pain, just the feral sensation of his mouth feasting on her, the butt plug jostling with each thrust, and him, laying siege to her body in motions that quickly increased in savagery the more he took her.
He slid his hand down between them to grip the jeweled end of the plug, plunging it into her in time with the rest of him until it felt as if he were fucking her both ways at once. “Tell your Master how much you love his cock.”
“I love my Master’s cock!” she both gasped and moaned, throwing her hips back into his next push. “Please! Oh! I love my Master’s cock!”
He pulled all the way out of her, reducing all sensation to the sudden vacuum of being so suddenly and painfully empty. She bucked back, desperate to reclaim him, and didn’t realize he had also removed the butt plug until he cupped her hips with one hand and she felt the blunted bump as the head of him settled against the puckered rim of her anal entrance.
“Deep breath,” he told her. “Blow it out again, all of it, every last molecule of air. Empty your lungs.”
She obeyed, exhaling out, right up until he pushed in. Exhaling gave her no time to clench and for all that common knowledge said her first time ought to hurt, whether because she was exhaling or because she had spent all night with that butt plug inside her, all she felt was one small note of discomfort wrapped in a veritable orchestra of unbelievable sensation. It ran the gamut of pleasure intensities, growing stronger the deeper he sank, the harder and faster he moved.
The slap of their meeting bodies filled the shower. He took her with one arm wrapped tight around her waist and his fingers on her clit. And though those first initial thrusts were slow and gentle, gradually he brought her to a place where he was anything but.
“Cum,” he demanded, and she did, bathing the rocks with her cries, clawing at her bonds. It felt as if he had ripped that orgasm from her all the way up from her toes.
Ruined.
She was ruined. Absolutely, heart-wretchedly ruined—and not just for vanilla men now but, she suspected, for all other men. Forever.
* * * * *
Breakfast was hot coffee, sliced cheese and fruit, and buttered croissants that tasted as if they were fresh from the oven. Kaylee ate hers sitting—dressed once more in yesterday’s clothes—on Master Marshall’s lap with her hands cuffed behind her back, taking each bite from his fingertips as he offered them.
“Have you enjoyed wearing my collar?” he asked, feeding her the last sip of coffee and setting the cup aside.
“Yes, sir,” she said honestly.
Too much.
“Good.” He wiped both their mouths on his napkin, then chucked her lightly under the chin to win an automatic smile. “You’ve been a mini-vacation for me as well.”
And then he freed her wrists and took his collar off her.
It felt like loss, the feel of that thin strip as it left her skin. Nothing could have been more ridiculous because it wasn’t real and she’d known that from the start. Funny how all it took was removing his collar for her to go from being so relaxed upon his knee to being so completely self-conscious about the fact that she didn’t belong there. Kaylee stood up, rubbing her hands against her thighs and feeling awkward.
“Ready for today’s fun and adventure?”
The urge to say "yes, sir" cut at her unbearably. She twisted at her fingers. “I-I guess that depends on what you have in mind.”
“What’s on my mind is making sure you have a wonderful time.” Climbing out of his chair, the Master of the Castle dropped his napkin on his plate and gave her bottom a swat. “Come with me.”
Out of his private apartment they went, with Bay trailing along behind him, down those long castle corridors where modern conveniences gave way to medieval wall sconces and costumed staff and vacationers alike. When they reached his office, there was a modest line of three young ladies (two maids and one Victorian-era princess) and a regal gentleman with a manila folder tucked up under his arm, waiting in the hall.
“And so the day begins,” Master Marshall said, eyeing each of the young ladies sternly. “I’ll be with you in just a moment, John,” he told the
young man, then to the women said, “You may as well sit down while you all still can.”
Fishing his keys from his pocket, he unlocked the door and held it open for Bay. When she hesitated, wondering if she shouldn’t take a place in line, he cupped her elbow and propelled her into his office ahead of him. Closing the door quietly behind him, he led her to his desk, leaving her to stand at one corner while he dug for a pen, and pulled out a crisp white form. He quickly filled in what looked to be duplicate halves on both the top and the bottom, hesitating only once when he started to write Personal Slave then paused, crossed it out and wrote instead, Little Maid. Folding the sheet in half, he crisped the edge with his thumbnail and then used the front of his desk to help tear the paper in half.
He kept the part with the error on it, slipping it into her file folder, which still crowned his in-box. “Do you remember where Wardrobe is?”
“Um…” Kaylee glanced over her shoulder, as if she could see it through the office wall and down the hall. “Yes. I think so.”
“Good. They’re going to get you set up for your next scenario. I’ll have someone come to collect you there just as soon as you’re dressed.” Closing her folder, Marshall crossed out the name Sarah in a single neat line—because Sarah had failed as a fantasy, and she was starting over again fresh. “How do you feel about Beth as your next adventure?”
Beth was nice. It was very normal sounding.
“I could be a Beth,” she agreed. “Where are you going to put me?”
“Into the bowels of the house.” He smiled and penned her new name across the top of her file. “You, my mischievous little minx, are going to be a Little Maid for a day.”
When he glanced up and pinned that smile on her, it was hard to see the devil lurking behind those angel-blue eyes. God, he was handsome. He damn near stole her breath away. “Okay,” she managed. “I can do that.”
“I know you can. You’re going to have a wonderful time.” He opened his middle desk drawer. “Give me your wrist.”
When she offered her arm across the desk, he slipped a yellow bracelet onto it, then shoved the drawer shut again and stood. Coming around to her side, he sat down on the corner and beckoned her closer.
She wasn’t wearing his collar anymore, but she could feel her neck tingling where it had rested on her skin. Her feet obeyed, drawing her in to stand between his knees.
“I enjoyed your company last night, very much.” His voice was as soft and warm as summer molasses. It flowed over her, enveloped her and brought an answering heat to pool and pulse low down in her sex.
“Me, too,” she admitted.
“This isn’t a love match,” he reminded. “We’re just two adults, enjoying one another.”
What was that she just saw, flickering through his eyes? It was there and gone again so fast she couldn’t be sure. For a moment though, she thought it might have been regret. Had he said that because he needed reminding too?
“I know.” She even nodded to show she really did understand and flashed him a small smile of her own. She glanced down at the paper in her hand. He had a busy morning lining up in the hall just outside his door, so she turned to take her leave, stopping only when she felt his fingers catch her wrist.
“I have not dismissed you.”
Kaylee felt that light touch on her arm like a static shock. Her skin against his tingled.
“What’s the number one rule?” he asked, dropping his hand to take hers.
“Anonymity,” she answered softly, letting herself be drawn back to stand once more between his legs. Her heart was doing that funny pattering dance against her ribs again. It was making it difficult to breathe. “No real names. No personal information.”
“That’s the number one rule for the Castle, but not for the Master’s office.”
She drew a total blank. How could anyone think with a man like this touching her?
His smile turned wolfish, melting her from the inside out. “No one leaves without a spanking.”
He stood up so close to her that each breath she took scraped her breasts against his chest. His fingers brushed her stomach, slipping in between her jeans and her navel, shivering her as she felt the button come loose and the zipper descend. His hands explored all the parts of her that her falling jeans revealed, her hips, her thighs, he even cupped and squeezed her bottom, lifting, spreading them, letting go again.
He stepped sideways and tapped the edge of his desk. “Right here, young lady.”
She stepped up to the desk as if in a dream and bent herself over it.
“You have such a beautiful ass,” he said as he let his hand wander all over the smooth, round target she was presenting to him.
“Thank you.” A tickle of laugher itched up the back of her throat, but she tried not to let it escape.
“Not at all.” Great. Now he sounded as if he were trying not to laugh too. “I could spend all day spanking you. Perhaps before you go home I will, and then we’ll see who gets the last chuckle in.”
The first soft slap caught the curve of her right bottom cheek. Her breath hitched when he rubbed; she almost lost herself composure to a moan of sheer wanton delight.
“Do me a favor.” His hand rasped a warm figure eight from her right buttock to her left.
She twisted back far enough to look at him. “What?”
“I have plans for you that do not include making it impossible for you to sit so early in the day. However, I also have a reputation to uphold and I do so enjoy scaring the devil out of naughty little girls waiting their turn in the hall. So, I’m going to spank you and I want you to, as my father would say, 'holler fer all yer worth’.”
That sudden and unexpected deep-South drawl startled her so badly she almost laughed. She clapped both hands over her mouth to keep it from being overheard by those ears straining just outside the door.
“Ready?” He grinned, still rubbing her bottom but now squeezing too, and prying in a way that made her whole sex come alive. It felt like he was prizing her open, readying himself to come inside her or perhaps just making good use of his superior view. Except that he was looking at her, catching peeks of her face each time she twisted back to see him.
“You don’t have to be loud if you don’t want to be.” Another clap, only just hard enough to make her jump and sigh; another rubbing squeeze. This time, his fingers got right in there, skimming both her anus and the eager folds of her shivering sex. “If you don’t feel comfortable faking it, as it were, I’m more than happy to give you something real to cry about and treat you like the bad girl you wish you could be. I love watching your face, dressed in blushes and tears. I love the sound of your voice, cracking as you plead and beg for me to stop when, all the while, what you really want is more.”
God help her, Kaylee almost orgasmed. How could he make something like that sound so wonderful and so threatening all at the same time? How could he so effortlessly leave her breathless and unable to hold still like this, with her stomach and her sex clenching in so sharp and erotic and tight?
She pressed her hands over her mouth, fighting to swallow back the moan that tried to slip free when his fingers hooked into the elastic waistband of her underwear. He peeled them down as far as her thighs before his warm hand wandered back up to cup her pussy. He rubbed her; he spanked her. He filled the air with sounds of wetness—
“Oooh,” she clawed at her hair, moaning.
—and she was only getting wetter.
“Of course, I’m also fond of good girls too,” he said, his hand slapping, rubbing, slapping again. Patting more than spanking, her pussy interpreted every smack as sheer pleasure. “Obedient little girls who get rewarded for that obedience in all their favorite ways. So, my question to you, my pretty pet, is this: Do you want to be a good girl or a bad one?”
“I’m a good girl,” Kaylee breathed, her hips rocking under the increasingly seductive spanks of his hand.
“Are you really?”
“Yes!” She clu
ng to his desk, all but panting with need. She arched her hips and spread her legs, opening herself that much wider for him. It was a fight to keep her voice soft so it would not carry. “Please, I want to be your good girl!”
“Let’s see then, shall we?” Wrapping his arm tight around her waist, Master Marshall gave her pussy another soft spank and her knees almost buckled under the pleasure of it.
“Oh!” She stiffened, blushing furiously when his fingers found her clit, rubbing and rolling to bring her arching up onto her tiptoes and then pinching cruelly tight to make her cry out. That it coincided with the first sharp smack of his open hand to her bottom she didn’t for a second think was an accident.
The impact was more sound than sensation, but as Master Marshall settled into a swift and disciplinary rhythm, so did the sting. His palm cupped to catch the air and provided a truly heart-stopping wallop as he warmed her bottom. Soon Kaylee was writhing in time and tempo, but not because she didn’t like it. She yelped and cried out, she even began to beg. It might have been his whispered command that started it—she honestly couldn’t remember. She cried for him to stop, please stop, when stopping was the last thing she wanted. She kicked and she fussed, and spread her legs and arched to meet his hand even though gentle warmth and soft stinging was now melting into sizzling heat and genuine discomfort. But his fingers—oh his fingers!
The spanking abruptly ended and he quickly clamped his burning hand over her mouth, muffling her moan as she ground helplessly on his fingers until she felt that first spark of bliss. He kissed her forehead while she came, spasming again and again, riding on his fingers. He pressed his soft laugh into her skin, shaking his head (at himself?) as he said, “God, I could spend the rest of the day just torturing every inch of you.”
Taking his hand from between her thighs, he brought his fingers to her mouth. “Suck,” he commanded, and she did, using her lips and tongue the way he seemed to like. His hungry kisses stole the taste of her from her mouth before, reluctantly, he helped her rise from his lap and set her back on her own two feet.